


this turns up, it's not sustainable

by fensandmarshes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: (kinda), First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Identity Porn, Kinda, M/M, Meet-Cute, Podfic Welcome, Secret Identity, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall, no beta we die like me trying to write 6 different birthday fics within a span of two days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fensandmarshes/pseuds/fensandmarshes
Summary: Wade should be safe from Daredevil in this elevator, though. There’s only this pretty blind lawyer, white-knuckling his cane with one hand for no particular reason (is it something Wade said?). No Daredevils here.or: “I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it”” AU
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Wade Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	this turns up, it's not sustainable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supinetothestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supinetothestars/gifts).



> “I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it”” AU, a la [“aus for when your otp are both assholes”.](https://web.archive.org/web/20160401154331/http://lizdexia.tumblr.com:80/post/117050708072/aus-for-when-your-otp-are-both-assholes)
> 
> happy birthday, mysty <3 thank you for always betaing my fics! unfortunately, the fact that you are my favourite person and one of the few people i trust to beta my fics - and the only one in this fandom - means that this fic is unbetaed! it’s okay though because it was made with love???
> 
> apologies for any america inaccuracies or elevator inaccuracies that may have snuck in. i dont even call them elevators so u really gotta appreciate my struggle here
> 
> IM ALSO SORRY THAT THIS IS LATE BLAIRE, TIME ZONES SUCK AND I CALCULATED YOUR BIRTHDAY WRONG HHHHHHH

It’s not a fancy place - pale sand-coloured, and a little ragged around the edges. Wade’s seen better. Granted, he’s also seen _much_ worse - has _lived_ in much worse. Safehouse 13 is a real shithole and he had to spend a good three months cooped up there one time - but his point stands. Nothing about this building is impressive. Other than, depending on your perspective, its inhabitants.

(And the fact that it’s smack-bang in the middle of the Daredevil’s little playground. _Territory_ , if you’re feeling like playing along. But what the Devil doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Wade’s got a mark in there somewhere, high up on the seventh floor. Problem is he’s lost his grappling hook. (It’s probably discarded along with the other scattered contents of pouch #18, somewhere between Manhattan and here. Poor pouch #18 just couldn’t take the heat. Get out of the Kitchen - _heh._ ) He _would_ take the elevator up, except he’s all suited in red and armed a little beyond his teeth.

Oops.

Despite extensive recon, Wade’s not actually sure what the building gets used for, couldn’t be bothered checking; a quick Google should tell him, but he’s fucking lazy and doesn’t have much time between this job and the next. He’s got another _appointment_ in half an hour and cannot afford to cut things finer than they already are - some job he and ol’ Loony Moony are taking together or something, he doesn’t fucking know, ask him in half an hour when he’s on his way. But there’s been a few ins and outs in the time he’s been watching - and maybe he lost track of time a little while doing that - and the doors aren’t locked. The lobby is, for all intents and purposes, relatively open.

And, well. The alternative to taking the elevator is climbing the fucking building or whatever the superhero kids are doing these days, and he just. Does. Not. Have the time for that at the moment. 

This is New York. They’ve seen weirder, right?

Wade stows his binoculars - so sue him. He’s old-school - in either pouch #9 or pouch #32. This numbering system really isn’t the greatest. He’s huddled in an alley opposite the Building of Interest, just far enough back that he’s well and truly draped in the shadows of the buildings on either side; now he wanders out of the darkness like a very lazy bat outta hell (no, that’s black out of red, wrong _fucking way_ , getcha head in the game Wilson) and crosses the street.

Jaywalking - the horror. Wade catches a glimpse of _attorneys at law_ in bold serif-y text near the door of the building, and wonders idly if they’ll sue him for what is very obviously the worst of his crimes.

The lobby is surprisingly dim, lit with faintly buzzing fluorescents in strips overhead; it isn’t tiny, but it’s smaller than Wade would’ve (and did) guess from the outside. He’s doing his good ol’ power-walk (others may call it a murder-walk, but hey, who’s to judge?) straight towards the elevator that’s conveniently in his line of sight for convenient convenience reasons. Tunnel-vision, activate! The doors are just now opening and some old lady wanders too-slowly out, but this is _good_ \- he’s twenty feet and closing so that’s just about the time he needs to make it before the doors automatically close. For once he’s got some goddamn luck.

Famous last words, Wade, sweetheart. You really should know better by now.

The lady clears the doorway as Wade’s fifteen feet away and there’s a guy with his back to Wade having a feel-up of the buttons - better not be doing what Wade fucking THINKS he’s doing. Try that again, mister. Go on, you know you wanna.

Yep.

That’s the _door close_ button.

Bitch, you better fucking HIDE.

So maybe Wade’s not thinking super straight here (is he _ever_ ) but he’s pissed, okay, and seeing redder than his own goddamn suit. He has to _get in the elevator_ , no matter how nice a figure that guy cuts in his suit, and he can’t afford to wait for the next one. On second thoughts, the elevator’s looking a bit rackety and old in places, but we don’t have TIME to unpack all that - plus Wade’s fucking committed now. This course of action. We’re doing it. _Come on, v_ _amanos_.

The point being. One does not simply press the _door close_ button in Deadpool’s face when he’s on a fucking time limit here. 

So Wade sprints. _(Everybody, let's go!)_

Skids into the elevator just before the doors close.

And presses. All the floor buttons. Two, three, seven, four, five, baby! Because if Wade’s going to be fucking late, so is this guy. _Asshole._

“Why would you - do you know how long we're going to be stuck here now?” the guy splutters, beginning to turn. He articulates his vowels all fancy-like and it’s a nice effect, even if that currently involves spitting them in Wade’s face.

“In my defense,” Wade says, and then gets a faceful of the guy - despite the sheer hatred (which, gotta say, _impressive_ levels) twisting his expression something awful, he’s _gorgeous_ , carrying a stack of files under one arm with two coffees impressively balanced in the crook of one elbow, and blind or low-vision to boot - cane, glasses, all the bells and whistles. Did Wade mention he’s _stunning?_ Plus the way he’s seething when he talks doesn’t _not_ flatter his lips or anything, if you catch Wade’s drift, and that is quite honestly not fucking fair.

“I am literally a defense attorney,” the guy says, with an edge to his voice that’s so sharp it could break Wade’s skin. (Which is thicker than you’d expect, literally _and_ metaphorically.) “So I would advise you not to bother finishing that sentence.”

“You fucking _started_ it,” Wade complains, voice growing plaintive. “The fuck was that with the button? Didn’t you see me -”

The guy clears his throat. It’s very pointed. And understandably so - _fuck_ does Wade hate it when their complaints are justified.

“My bad.” 

The elevator’s silent. Wade shifts his weight and winces at the rattle of various weaponry on his person - he might have overdone it a _tad_ with the throwing stars given he doesn’t even know how to use them properly, but they might come in handy! One never knows. He feels like there should be an awkward cough in there somewhere, to punctuate the silence, but it’d be a little contrived if he coughed out of nowhere and the other guy doesn’t seem particularly obliging on that front.

“So what are you doing on this fine morning in this building with, uh.” Wade checks the list of elevator buttons, as if he doesn’t know the layout back to front like he always does right before a job. (The info’s gone after about twenty-four hours - long-term memory? Who’s she?) “Seven floors and a slow-ass elevator?”

Mr. Defense Lawyer shoots a blistering glance towards Wade’s chin, which actually makes a lot of sense if he bothers to think about it for more than a second. “I have a meeting. I’m late. How the fuck is that your business?”

“Well,” Wade muses, “looks like we’re gonna be here for a while. Might as well get to know each other, hmm?”

“Or we might as well not.”

The elevator lets out a long-suffering groan, as if it’s struggling with one or both of their weights. It must be Mr. Late For A Meeting’s fault, of course - definitely not the ridiculous amount of extra weight that Wade’s carrying due to his assortment of weaponry. Look, this is Hell’s Kitchen (or Clinton, or Midtown West, depending how anachronistic you feel like being) - these three or four blocks or some shit are practically _micromanaged_ by their own private vigilante with what look like some deep-seated issues with religion. Wade’s not taking any fucking chances when it comes to Daredevil’s turf. He and The Horny One have played around a few times, just trading a few blows here and there, testing each others’ strength with an idle curiosity; sure the costume’s laying it on a bit thick, but the guy’s got some skills. Wade could probably take him if it came down to it, but. That would _slow him down._ And it would be _frustrating_. And he would have to put aside a valuable minute or two for the purpose of admiring Daredevil’s _ass_ . And Wade _does not have time for that now_.

Wade should be safe from Daredevil in this elevator, though. There’s only this pretty blind lawyer, white-knuckling his cane with one hand for no particular reason (is it something Wade said?). No Daredevils here.

“You’re certainly holding that cane real tight there, buddy,” Wade prods, faux-casual. “What’s up?”

“Fuck off,” Lawyer-Man (sounds like a superhero alias! Foreshadowing much?) grits out. The teeth-grinding he’s got going on there sounds unrealistically unhealthy - what is it with these angry macho men wanting you to know they’re angry and macho via horrible grindey sounds? 

“Okay, but I’m warning you, this’ll feel like fifty times longer if we just sit in godawful silence,” Wade chirps. 

The guy tilts his head to the side, and then - wow. Does his face just … do that? Are people _supposed_ to be that expressive? For what it’s worth, he seems like he’d be a really bad liar, because Wade reckons he can pinpoint about six different emotions on his face in the span of a second. Currently, he’s exhibiting a rare species of _I’m trying not to be curious but I really want to know more but I’m sure I’m going to hate the answer._ Or possibly constipation. After another two long seconds of deliberation, he settles on determined blankness and says, oh-so-politely, “You say that like you’ve been in this situation before.”

“Who, _me_?”

“Sure.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Wade says. You know, like a liar.

The elevator reaches level two and shudders to a painstaking halt, groaning in protest. Wade considers taking the stairs, but then he remembers they’re blocked off for no particular reason other than plot convenience and maybe a rotting step or five. Seriously, how fucked up is this building? For that matter, why is a fancy-schmancy _defense attorney_ late for a meeting in the same building as Wade’s next -

“My firm has offices here,” Lawyer-Man says coolly. 

Wait, did Wade say that out loud?

“Could you … not tell?”

Not particularly. 

“Sounds about right,” Lawyer-Man mutters coldly. Before Wade has time to be confused (seems like a running theme, there), there’s a hastily tacked-on “Don’t call me that, anyway.”

“Call you what?”

It looks like it physically pains him to articulate the nickname. “Lawyer-Man.”

“What’d you prefer?” Wade says baldly. “How do you feel about pet names?”

“Fuck _off_ ,” not-Lawyer-Man snarls, and - really, buddy, you gotta give us a narratively suitable stand-in, otherwise what the fuck are we gonna call you? ‘Pretty -’

“ _No._ ”

“Then _what_ ,” Wade says, fluttering his eyelashes beneath his mask. 

_He_ \- we’re working on it, folks! - sighs begrudgingly. His face is doing the Thing again. “You can call me … Matt. I guess.”

“That your name?”

“Sure,” he says, defeat in the line of his shoulders as he leans against the elevator’s wall. The motion causes it to shiver a bit, and Wade’s eyes dart from side to side - this might just be getting fun, and _any_ other day that’d be cause for celebration. God. Fuck. He’s got a schedule to stick to. 

Despite the very pretty set to _Matt’s_ disgruntled jaw.

Wade goes to say something - probably along the lines of _ten I see_ , though he realises belatedly that might be somewhat insensitive - but _Matt_ cuts him off before he can open his mouth. “If you try a cheesy fucking pickup line on me, Deadpool,” he says, “I swear -”

Something about the way Matt addresses him doesn’t sit right with Wade - something Matt shouldn’t know - but he’s a bit distracted and lets it slide. “But my lines are so _good_ ,” he pouts, tickled pink by Matt’s timely prediction - they _do_ get each other. Aww. Like they’re made for each other, or they met in a past life. Or like they met last week when Wade exchanged feral-esque growls with Daredevil before running off to collect a paycheck in person because some asshat was allergic to bank transfers. Or something like that. “You _do_ love me, Matty!”

“I don’t even know your name,” Matt says. His voice is a little too even. Something’s up.

“Wade,” he coos, in his best overtly seductive voice. Fuck you too, he has game. “But you can call me -”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me _finish._ ”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“Innuendo for innuendo, I like it,” Wade says, and watches Matt’s face crumble as he gets it.

Wade stands up straighter (ha - as if he could be _anywhere_ near straight when in close confinement with this stupidly beautiful man, crows’-feet eyes and too-combed hair and stupid goddamn _stubble_ and all) and stops leaning against the wall; Matt shifts uncomfortably, posture ramrod-straight, and switches the fold of his hands on his cane. “What about you,” Matt says, a strange twist to his lips. It doesn’t sound like a question. “Why are you here?” he adds, tilting his head to the side in an oddly familiar gesture.

Wade shifts his weight from one foot to the other and winces at the rattle. “I also have a meeting,” he sing-songs, probably too cheery. It’s not _technically_ a lie, but Matt’s lips twist into a disgruntled pout regardless. Can he tell, somehow? Maybe he’s just good at reading people or something. “For architecture,” he improvises on the fly. “I am an architect, and I gotta meet with a client for … architecture reasons.”

Yeah nah that just made everything worse, didn’t it. Solid job, Wade. Stunning cover-up. Fantastic smoothing over. Well _done_. Truly a modern-day con artist.

“I’m sure,” Matt says too pleasantly, trying to school his very obvious grimace into a polite smile. “And these … _architecture reasons_ … would be?”

“I have client confidentiality,” Wade bullshits, as if he knows anything at all about his feigned profession. 

“ _Mmmm_ ,” the _lawyer_ returns skeptically.

Fuck.

“Okay, bear with me here, but - I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Matty,” Wade says mournfully, savouring the name as he speaks it. “I’m not an architect.”

“No _shit_ ,” Matt scoffs. “Did you really think -”

“Oh come _on_. As if you’re not just as bad a liar.” 

“I’m _not_ -” this Matt guy begins, huffy, and then cuts himself off to slide into a slightly alarmed silence.

Which is … wild. Wade’s not quite sure why he said what he said - call it his instinctive Banter Senses, born of decades as a comic book character - but the more he prods at it in his excuse for a brain, the more sense it makes. (Wade gets people, sometimes. Even if he likes to pretend he doesn’t.) Matt’s too antsy, too flustered, a little too jumpy when all that’s up is words -

And the bastard called him _Deadpool_. How the hell did he _know_.

If Wade were running a little less short on time, he’d probably prod more at this guy’s too-pretty edges. (Too pretty? Hm, maybe it’s suspicious that this guy is this inhumanly attractive - after all, the extras are never this gorgeous.) As it is, he has about thirty seconds until the elevator arrives at its destination, which is alarming. But he can track this guy down again, he’s sure -

Fuck, though, if he’s seriously more than he seems then he probably knows how to disappear at the very least. Wade squints at him, disappointed. How dare he be such a convenient inconvenience? He has enough to contend with at the moment, what with _avoiding the Daredevil while carrying out an assassination in his territory_ , but. This guy’s got his attention now. Which is frustrating.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open; this is Wade’s floor, and he’s trapped now, like one of those funky flies in tree sap that they show off at museums. “How dare you,” he grouses absently. “Being all - intriguing and interesting and shit. I have places to be, you know.”

Matt tenses _again_ , a shitty actor, and Wade bemoans the sheer inconvenience of him. “I’m just kidding,” Wade adds, honey-sweet as best he can muster. “You’re not interesting at all - nope, okay, that’s a lie. Look, you can’t blame a guy for wanting to know more about the hot lawyer he gets stuck in an elevator with.”

“Hot -” Matt opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, giving Wade a non-insignificant excuse to stare at his lips for a _hot_ second before he wrenches focus back to the task at hand.

“Listen, dude, I gotta go,” Wade says gloomily. The elevator doors try to close, but Wade jams his foot in the space between them and leaves it there. “But maybe,” he adds, treading carefully, “I could see you again some other time.”

The Inconvenience raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’d be on time?”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one that’s currently late for a meeting, jackass.”

“And whose fault is -”

“Answer the question!” None of that sidesteppy lawyery bullshit today, no sir. Wade _does not_ have the time. 

Matt’s silent for a few seconds. The doors try to close again. His hands are itching towards his swords; could this guy just _hurry up_ and make a fucking deci -

“Give me your phone number,” Matt grits out through his teeth, like every word is paining him to say. 

“Aw _hell_ yeah,” Wade hisses, punching the air. Then pauses. “How do I -”

“Just tell me the digits,” Matt huffs, and yup, that’s the face of someone who’s been here before. Who knew? Maybe he’s got _game_ beyond sniffing disparagingly in the general direction of criminal activities. Wade rattles them off obligingly - sure it’s this week’s burner, but fuck if he can remember the number of this month’s “this is my phone for real this time” - and bolts.

He’s got a date with a piece of shit who’s just begging to be decapitated. And then, later - maybe a date with someone slightly less evil. Or not - but at least Wade can figure out what the hell his deal is. People that pretty are never just side characters. No, this ‘Matt’ person is either a love interest or a morally upstanding superhero, and Wade really needs to pin that shit down ASAP.

Or, Wade considers - maybe he could be both.

(It’s not like he’s ever cared much about convention.)

**Author's Note:**

> comments make the world go round!! and you can find me on tumblr or twitter as fensandmarshes <3


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